


some other beginning's end

by spidermanhomecomeme



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Annoying Drunk People, Awkward Flirting, Bartenders, Chance Meetings, F/M, Feelings, Idiots in Love, References to Brad Davis, excessive use of nostalgic music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme
Summary: Maybe it’s the warm, glowing lights of the crowded bar, or the nostalgic music, she’s not sure. There’s just something about watching Peter make drinks, the way he smiles so warmly when talking, the way his eyes light up when he hears a funny jokes, the way he dances goofily as he enthusiastically sings along to the blaring sound of Smash Mouth, the way his jawline looks as if it could cut the very glasses that he pours drinks into, and just... something about the way his biceps flex in that ridiculously tight, black t-shirt as he tosses the shaker over his shoulder—
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796449
Comments: 51
Kudos: 112
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	some other beginning's end

**Author's Note:**

> DAY FOUR HERE WE GO BBS!!!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this one!! 
> 
> Title is based on a lyric from Semisonic's "Closing Time"

MJ’s not sure what it is—it could be her friends tipsily singing (if one could even call it that) along to  _ Take Me Home Tonight  _ on spotify after some pre-bar drinks at Cindy’s place, or it could be the jagweed in the car behind her currently riding up her ass,  _ or _ it could be the constant texts from her newly made ex-flame lighting up her phone—but something about tonight is making her regret agreeing to be the designated driver on  _ Girl’s Night With Three Exclamation Points _ . 

Of course, she’s always happy—no,  _ willing _ —to drive her friends to and from home on a night of drinking. She’d much rather know they were safe with her or the occasional uber instead of just going about it themselves. But she honestly doesn’t feel like going out tonight. Normally, she’d be fine going with them, but after the emotional labor of having to end it—whatever “it” was—with a guy who she really just wasn’t feeling “it” with, she would have been happy to stay at home reading all night. 

And yet, both of them, Cindy and Felicia, endlessly insisted that she get herself out there again. That she needed to keep meeting new people. That she should play the field now that Brad’s officially out of the picture. And it would be  _ so fun _ , they said. Even if she’s the sober, they said.

It’s not like she doesn’t think she’ll have a good time; going out with two of her best friends almost always brings about some interesting, funny stories. That’s not to say it’s ever unpleasant when the three of them hit the town. Sure, there are times when MJ would rather spend a quiet evening in, and times when MJ ends up wanting to turn in early, but she’s never actively disliked going out.

But...

She isn’t exactly feeling it tonight. 

Felicia sits in the front with her, faking a cough as she starts the song over. “Oh—Oh shit. How’d that happen?” She asks innocently as Eddie Money starts to sing again. 

Cindy laughs from the backseat. “Felicia, oh my  _ God _ ,” She groans, drawing out the ‘a’ in her friend’s name. “You’ve played that song _ four times  _ already!” 

“Five times, actually,” MJ pipes in, not moving her gaze from the traffic ahead. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Felicia says with a not-so-innocent smirk. She squints her eyes, pretend-examining Michelle’s phone. “Something’s wrong with your Spotify or something, MJ. I dunno what to tell you. It just keeps playing the greatest song ever composed over and over again.”

“Uh-huh.” MJ passes her friend a doubtful side-eye glance. “Tragic.”

“You should get that fixed,” Cindy says while unsuccessfully suppressing a snort.

And despite all the surrounding factors stomping on every last of her nerves, a fond smile pulls at the corner of MJ’s mouth. 

“Okay, Cindy, remember the mission.” Felicia pulls down her mirror, reapplying her dark purple lipstick. “Get MJ some ass.”

Michelle’s exceedingly glad that she has such control driving, otherwise she might have crashed at that comment. “I don’t need any ass.”

“Some dick?” Cindy asks from her place in the backseat. 

Felicia reaches her hand back for a high-five.

“I  _ especially _ don’t need any dick tonight. Not looking for any one night stands.” MJ’s hands flex on the steering wheel. “Besides, why—why are you even trying to hook me up with someone tonight? I’m literally your only ride.”

“We can call an uber,” Felicia says without even looking up from her own phone. 

Cindy nods. 

“Guys, I’m really not looking for anything,” MJ says. “I tried the whole hook-up thing already. It sucked.”

“That’s because  _ Brad _ sucked,” Felicia says with an almost playful roll of her eyes. 

MJ does laugh at that. “I mean, you’re not wrong there, but I don’t think it was exclusively his fault.” After a pause, she continues. “I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m a hook-up person. I have to actually enjoy spending more than five minutes with someone at a time before I can have sex with them.”

Cindy sits back in her seat. “That’s fair.”

“And Brad was at a solid four minutes fifty-seven seconds,” she jokes.

“That’s generous,” Felicia mutters under her breath. 

Snorting, MJ clicks her turn signal, pulling them into a parking spot about two blocks from the dive bar Cindy had picked for their evening. 

She loves her friends, she really, truly does. 

But right now? She’s tired. She doesn’t want to go into a crowded, loud bar, and be hit on by weirdos. She doesn’t think she even has the energy to come up with clever retorts to any creepy one-liners. 

They exit the car, the two other girls still snickering to themselves, clearly not holding their pre-bar tequila shots well. 

It’s crowded, that’s for sure, but not nearly as horrible as MJ thought it might be. There are only a few people at the bar, a majority of the patrons scattered throughout the place. Felicia points out the three bartenders working, and though MJ can’t hear her over the chatter and music, she’s pretty sure whatever she said was along the lines of how hot they all were. 

The three girls move to stand at the bar, MJ resting her elbow on the counter, waiting patiently. 

Almost immediately, one of the bartenders takes notice. He grins a bright, friendly grin as he starts to make his way over. 

“Ooooh, jackpot,” Felicia mutters under her breath as she leans forward on the bar. 

MJ will give Felicia credit where credit is due. This one is cute; brown curls, nice, warm smile and kind eyes, etc. He’s shorter than the other guy and not really as modelesque as the girl, but there’s this undeniable charm about him. 

And at the same time, something undeniably familiar that MJ can’t quite place. 

“What’s up, guys?” The bartender asks, throwing his white towel over his shoulder. “What can I get ya?”

“I’ll have a screwdriver,” Cindy says.

Felicia flashes a flirty smirk, smokey eyes squinting. “Dark and stormy.”

The cute bartender stops at MJ, seemingly oblivious to Felicia’s flirting.

“Just a water, thanks,” MJ says, pressing her lips together into a thin, yet polite smile. 

“Designated driver. Respect,” he replies with a firm nod, though he seems to do a double take when he really looks at her. For a second, his smile grows as a look of recognition falls over his face. Almost as quickly, however, he finds his composure. 

But his smile—the one that’s seemingly directed  _ right at her _ —stays, and it makes her feel like she just did a shot of Everclear. Everything in her turns to jelly, and she’s suddenly mad at herself for swooning over this random white boy. 

And again—it’s way too familiar.

“Thanks,” she finally forces herself to respond with a shy smile after a too-long silence. 

He seems to have gotten a little lost as well before clearing his throat, excusing himself as he starts to make the drinks. 

When he leaves to go grab some ingredients, as soon as he’s out of earshot, both friends spin to face her. 

“Okay,  _ what _ was that?” Cindy demands. 

MJ jerks her head back in confusion. “What was what?” 

“Did you know him?” Felicia cuts in, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No,” MJ finds herself answering quickly, finding herself getting defensive for no reason. “I don’t… think so? I mean, maybe he was in one of my classes freshman year. I don’t know.”

Something tells her that’s not it, but for the life of her she can’t figure out what it is.

_ Where the hell did she know this guy? _

“Well, if you don’t know him already, you should,” Felicia gives her a playful nudge. “He’s cute. And he seems into you.”

Said Cute Bartender Boy passes by again, holding up his index finger and announcing that he’d be back in “just a second,” but not before throwing another wayward glance back at Michelle.

Felicia and Cindy turn to stare pointedly at her.

MJ can’t help the warmth creeping up her neck. She rolls her eyes, both at her friends and the fact that it’s all so very high school. “Shut up.”

Cute Bartender Boy comes back, Cindy’s and Felicia’s drinks in hand, both girls thanking him. “Yeah, sorry about the wait. Apparently, there’s a bachelorette party coming in later, so we’re getting ready for that.”

“You’re good,” MJ reassures him. 

Again, her two friends watch her. 

CBB (Cute Bartender Boy) smiles easily at her, before pressing his lips together, snapping his fingers against his palm lamely. “Water, right?” He asks again, clearing his throat.

She only nods, finding herself unable to keep a steady amount of eye contact before having to look down at her hands. 

He leans a little on the bar, putting one hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “Well, ma’am, I’m gonna need to see some ID for that.” 

She scoffs, glancing away again to hide the fact that she thought the dumb joke was funny at all. 

He smiles again—and it gives that same stupid, intoxicating feeling as it did before—turning around to grab a glass from behind him. 

The miniscule tilt of her head as she looks at him is unconscious. Truly, she feels as if she’s already met this guy, but she can’t figure out where. Everything about him is utterly familiar. 

“Mm _ hmm _ ,” Felicia hums, quietly taking a sip of her drink, Cindy raising her brows and looking away. 

MJ’s startled out of her thoughts. She turns to glare at her friends. “What?”

“You do realize we’re still here, right?” Felicia teases. 

If MJ were an immature person, she might smack the drink right out of her smug friend’s hands, but she holds herself back, only considering the idea for a split-second. The image that flashes through her mind almost makes her smile. 

“Do we need to leave you two alone?” Cindy offers, throwing a thumb over her shoulder, the humored tint in her eyes sending an itch in MJ’s chest. “‘Cause we can go. It’s fine.”

“Will you guys calm down?” MJ shoots another warning glare as she turns to completely rest her arms on the bar. “We’re literally just talking.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Felicia nods, giving a sly wink before taking another sip of her drink. “I gotcha.”

Before Michelle can get the last word, CBB is back again, this time with her drink. “One water. On the rocks,” he says with a cheeky smile. “Enjoy.”

“Oh—” MJ wracks her brain for a comeback, her usual quick wit and dry sarcasm failing her at the last second. It takes an almost embarrassingly long amount of time for her to stammer out, “I wanted it neat, though.” 

But when he lets out a genuine laugh, a little of that embarrassment gives way to this dumb fluttering in her chest cavity. It’s then, as she glances around, she notices that both of her friends have disappeared into the bar, abandoning her entirely. 

And normally, she might be annoyed at that. She  _ should _ be annoyed. But right now, as she’s trying to find a way to be mad, she’s coming up completely empty. She can’t find it in herself to care. 

“I can remake that water for you—” the bartender’s joking voice pulls her back. “If you want.”

The corners of her lips turn downward into a nonchalant frown as she waves him off. “No, no. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll live.” 

He lets out another quiet chuckle, but he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he lingers, toying with the white towel in his hands, opening his mouth and closing it again as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“Uh—Um…” He rubs the back of his neck with a free hand. “Sorry if this is a weird question—and I don’t mean it in a weird way—but… Do I…? Know you…? From somewhere?”

He asks the question as if he already knows the answer. 

MJ pauses mid-sip, pulling away from her water. 

“‘Cause… You seem really… uh… Familiar.”

Again, it’s as if he’s only asking out of politeness.

“Not a weird question,” MJ finally says. “I was kinda getting that, too,” she adds quietly, almost too quiet to where he has to lean over the bar counter to hear her.

He seems to get a sense of confidence. “Did you by any chance go to Midtown Tech?”

Michelle nods slowly, taking another long sip of her water. “Yeah, I did. How’d you know?”

“I’m pretty sure we were in the same graduating class,” he says, squinting a little as he continues to look right at her, a thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

And then it hits her. 

_ Of course.  _

_ High school. _

_ It’s only been three years since she graduated. How could she have missed something so obvious? _

And suddenly, the memories come flooding back. She knows exactly who this guy is. 

He was only the star of her thoughts, dreams, wishes, and doodles for a solid four years of her god damn life.

“Peter?” She asks, her head tilting to the side, her gaze almost calculating now. 

“That’s me,” he grins with a shrug, before pointing at her. “Michelle?” He breathes out, almost a sigh of relief, when she nods again. “I’m surprised you remember me!”

_ Remembers him? HA. _

Oh, she remembers Peter Parker; she only had a crush the size of the sun on him throughout her entire four years in that hellhole. He was always so stupidly nice to people, no matter what, always wanting to do the right thing, to stand up for the little guy. Back then, he was a skinny, shrimpy guy with a wild mop of floppy dark curls that always seemed to get in his eyes. But now… his hair is shorter, still curly, but more styled. He’s less scrawny, more bulky, like the only other place he goes besides working at the bar is the gym. 

“I—I just didn’t recognize you at first!” MJ’s finally able to get out, finding herself stunned at how blind she had been. “You look… different.” She smiles fondly.

In the dimly lit bar, MJ can still see Peter blush. “Yeah…” He trails off, glancing around briefly. “Just uh—hittin’ the gym. Mostly. But I do a lot of… Free running. In my spare time. All the time. Every day. Yep.” His voice gets a little tight, and he clears his throat, glancing around the bar. “And—and you look great, too. Still. As usual!” He huffs out a nervous laugh. 

MJ’s brow scrunches slightly, not sure what exactly he means, but she still takes the compliment. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He grins. “I like your shirt,” He offers after a beat, his hands once again wringing the towel between them.

Michelle quickly glances down, suddenly forgetting what she was even wearing that night. She smiles briefly, seeing Joan of Arc staring back up at her. “Oh—” She breathes out. “Thanks. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

A beat of shared eye contact passes between them. 

Peter’s the first to look away this time; a group of older men are now standing at the bar, their boisterous laughter grabbing his attention. He turns to her again, mouth pulling into an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, his hand giving the counter a single, firm pat. 

He doesn’t need to come back, that much is obvious, but the way he throws one last glance over his shoulder at her makes her care less and less. 

It’s weird, though. Not necessarily bad, though. He looks different, now, that’s for sure, but she can tell he’s still that same goofy, kind nerd she  fantasized dreamed about throughout all of her awkward teenage. And it’s funny, MJ’s never been one of those people who treats muscles, abs and whatever else has been deemed attractive by society as some sort of dealbreaker in a partner, and she hasn’t changed her tune at all, even presented with such a prime example in the past twenty minutes... but—

Maybe it’s the warm, glowing lights of the crowded bar, or the nostalgic music, she’s not sure. There’s just something about watching Peter make drinks, the way he smiles so warmly when talking, the way his eyes light up when he hears a funny jokes, the way he dances goofily as he enthusiastically sings along to the blaring sound of Smash Mouth, the way his jawline looks as if it could cut the very glasses that he pours drinks into, something about the way his biceps flex in that ridiculously tight, black t-shirt as he tosses the shaker over his shoulder—

“Told you I’d be right back.”

Michelle startles, catching herself before she falls forward, her hand coming out from holding her chin and onto the counter. “Oh, hey.”

“You good? Need to slow down on that water?” Peter asks with a teasing smirk, tilting his head down. “Do I need to cut you off?”

“Ha ha,” she retorts with a dry laugh. 

“Seriously, though; can I get you anything else?” He asks, though despite his words, his mischievous expression remains very much the same. “Anything besides water?”

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“You sure? I can get you a soda? Virgin margarita? I can make it look like you’re drinking.” He looks at her expectantly, eyebrows raised, head tilted slightly. “Ooh! I make a _ great _ Shirley Temple.”

“Aren’t those super easy to make?” 

He snorts. “I mean. Not for… Not for everyone.”

Michelle watches him back for a moment, her own gaze challenging his. “Okay,” she sits forward, leaning onto the bar. “Bring it on.” As he starts to turn away, she speaks again. “Shirley Temple, first, please.”

He gives her two solid thumbs up, and she swears he winks at her before spinning around again. 

It’s strange, how the same fluttery, gooey, youthful feelings can come back so easily; that she can time travel instantly with just a single smile and a silly crack of a joke. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about Peter at all throughout her years at college; there’s been plenty of times where she’d accidentally reminisce about the old days and cringe about how obvious she always thought she was, and how he never really seemed to notice her. She doesn’t blame him for that, of course. As obvious as she had been, she’d never actually made any sort of move, forever watching from the sidelines as one of the background characters of his life. 

It’s never been a sad feeling, per se. It’s been one that makes her face and neck unbearably hot; makes her want to cover herself with a blanket and never come out again when she thinks about it in the minutes before she’s about to fall asleep. 

He returns moments later, a pretty red drink—with a cherry on top—in hand. He presents it to her with a dramatic flourish—though he’s careful not to let it spill. 

She stares blankly at him, raising a single brow. 

He cracks a half-smile. “Alright, madam. Here is your Sprite and grenadine.” He finishes it off by placing a grossly cute red and white striped straw in it. 

Michelle’s lips press into a fleeting smile. “Thank you very much.” She takes her drink, tipping it at him before taking a long, contemplative sip. Her brows furrow as she tastes the saccharine sweet grenadine. 

“Well?” Peter asks, leaning on the bar with one hand, the other tucked into his pocket. 

She sits back, cocking her head to the side as if in deep thought, smacking her lips for dramatic effect. She shrugs with a slight frown. “It’s alright.”

“Alright?” Peter lets out an almost offended, but good-humored, scoff. 

“Alright.”

“Damn.” Peter shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have talked it up so much, huh?”

“Yeah, my expectations were too high.”

Another moment passes, the sounds of lively chatter and Blink-182 becoming almost nonexistent in their little corner of the bar. Peter’s face twists into one of faux-disappointment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Michelle only just able to prevent the smirk threatening to form on her own. 

Then, like a drunken tidal wave, that bachelorette party Peter had mentioned earlier comes screaming into the bar. 

Michelle can see the way the light in Peter’s eyes dies in that moment. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, baring an already tired smile. She covers her mouth, hiding the way the corners of her lips are violently twitching upward. 

Peter turns his attention back to her again. “I mean, at least they called ahead,” he says, trying to look on the brightside. “Most don’t.”

A piercing shriek of joy and laughter cuts through the air. 

Michelle flinches before finishing her drink, mostly in an effort not to make eye contact with any of the girls wearing the bright pink sashes that say things like ‘wild thing,’ ‘maid of dishonor,’ ‘shot queen,’ and—her personal favorite—’miss behaving.’ Her eyes drift back to meet Peter’s; his are wide and she can see the hint of fear behind them. 

“Oh, God,” he mutters under his breath. 

MJ doesn’t say anything else, offering a quick smile before breaking her maraschino cherry off the stem and tossing it into her mouth. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his lips pressing together to fight off a smile as she chews. 

Peter watches as the bridal party approaches the bar, and he braces himself, knowing he’s about to have to walk away from the conversation, but relaxes when one of his colleagues takes over. His shoulders drop as he lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Harry,” he mutters under his breath. 

MJ stops twisting the cherry stem between her fingers, eyes flitting up to meet his, not hearing what he said. “What?”

Peter’s eyes move down to her hands, his arms folded across his chest as he rocks back on his heels. “You ever… You ever hear that… that weird thing about tying a cherry stem in a knot in your mouth?”

Her movement stills, and again, she looks up at him. That same, shot-taking warmth floods her system, and she wonders if somebody in the bar cranked the thermostat up. “I’ve heard of it,” she says, expression impassive.

“Ever tried it?” He asks, not-so-casually leaning on the bar. 

_ Is he… flirting? _

Her jaw shifts, eyes narrowing as she stares carefully at him, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep any sort of smirk from forming. “I haven’t.” 

Something flashes in his eyes, something challenging. Competitive. Something that makes her cheeks burn. “I can actually do it.” The nonchalance returns. “Pretty fast, too.”

She wonders if she should take the bait. 

Folding her arms as she leans toward him, she eyes him carefully. “Okay, let’s see it, Parker.”

Peter breathes out with a smile, pulling one of the many cherries out of the cherry jar. He eats the fruit quickly, swallowing before tossing the stem into his mouth. It’s (unsurprisingly) difficult to hold eye contact with him, but MJ holds her ground, eyebrows raised as he successfully knots the stem in approximately fifteen seconds. 

He pulls it out triumphantly, a proud, cheeky smile stretched across his features as he presents his masterpiece. “Boom,” he says, placing the knotted stem down on a folded napkin. 

“Wow,” MJ draws out sarcastically. 

“You think you can do better?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare.

Wordlessly, she pops her stem into her mouth, and almost instantly, she realizes just how difficult it actually is. She’s sure the faces she’s pulling right now can’t be the least bit attractive, but something in her doesn’t care. Her tongue wrestles with the stem for an embarrassingly long amount of time—she can feel the beginnings of a cramp starting to form—and she makes the mistake of looking up at Peter watching her, trying not to laugh. Without warning, a bubble of laughter comes out of her. She brings her hand up to cover her mouth as soon as the snort happens.

Michelle’s not one to give up easily, but she knows a fruitless endeavor when she’s in one. “Ah, damn,” she says, pulling the stem out of her mouth and folding it into a napkin. “That’s… really hard.”

The snicker from across the counter pulls her attention back, and she’s not surprised at all to find Peter snickering at her failure. 

“Oh, shut up.” She throws the stem at him. 

“Hey!” He jumps to the side, just barely dodging it.“I have to clean that up!”

She scrunches her nose. “My bad.” 

Breaking eye contact, he moves to pick up the stem with a napkin, throwing it away. When he looks back at her again, the air seems to be sucked out of the very room, and she wonders if there’s some kind of weird magic at play that makes him just able to have that effect on her. 

Before she can say anything else, Miss Behavior and Bride-To-Be come up to the bar where they’re at. 

“Um, excuse me!” Miss Behavior snaps her fingers, grabbing Peter’s attention. “Um, hi!” She smiles a smile so sickeningly sweet. Her voice is nasal and high pitched, her words slurred. “Can we get some free shots? My friend’s getting married to this guy soon, so a round of tequila shots would be amaaaaaazing.”

Bride-To-Be flashes a bright, if not a little crooked, smile.

Peter offers a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. Can’t.”

“But—” Miss Behavior’s jaw drops, as if what Peter’s just said is the worst thing to happen to anyone on this planet. Ever. Michelle’s surprised she doesn’t immediately ask to speak to the manager. “She’s getting married!”

“Yeah! I’m getting married,” Bride-To-Be beams, pushing her hand forward to show off the rock on her finger. 

“Congratulations!” Peter cheers, matching their excitement, though he flinches at the end. “But, free bridal shots are only on every other Tuesday.” He throws a quick wink at Michelle.

“Oh my Gooooooood! That’s so rude!” Miss Behavior whines. 

Peter nods, lips pressed into a thin smile. “That’s right. Every other Tuesday.”

Miss Behavior’s about to open her mouth again when Bride-To-Be stops her, holding a hand out. “What’s today?” She shouts over the music. “Saturday?” She hiccups, dragging her friend away and into the flock of other party members, her drunken shouting fading away under the music. “C’mon, Taylor.”

“Can’t wait,” Peter flashes a tight grin as he waves. He sighs, relaxing when they’re finally gone. 

Michelle stares at her empty glass. “Why did her sash say ‘Miss Behavior’?”

“Huh?” Peter looks up at her, brow pinched together in confusion. 

“Her sash… It said ‘Miss Behavior.’”

“Yeah, so?”

“Based on what the other sashes say, hers is supposed to imply that she misbehaves—” MJ’s eyes narrow as she continues to think out loud. “But… if she’s Miss Behavior… then she’s actually implying that she behaves.”

A snort of laughter suddenly comes out of Peter. He shakes his head as he covers his face. It takes him a second, but he gathers himself enough to actually make human conversation. Michelle only watches calmly, the corners of her mouth just barely twitching upward. 

“Oh, God—” He wipes at his eye. “Can I—” Another laugh. “Can I get you another drink?”

Michelle’s not sure if her dumb commentary was actually all that funny, but she’ll certainly take it. “Sure,” she replies.

He throws another easy grin her way before disappearing again. But he’s not gone long, coming back with a cup of clear liquid. With the same showmanship as with the Shirley Temple, he presents the drink to her, placing it in front of her, dropping a green olive in as a final touch. “Ta da!” He beams. “Virgin Martini!”

Michelle nearly chokes on the laugh that wants to come out of her. “...How?”

“Oh, it’s just water. With an olive in it.”

This time, she lets that laugh—that comes as more of a sudden, slightly undignified snort—out of her. “You just wasted an olive, then. For a dumb joke.”

“Nuh uh. Do you like olives?”

“They’re alright.”

“See? Not wasted at all.” He pauses a moment, still laughing. “Hang on, I’ll get you a real drink.” He blanches. “Not—Not a  _ real _ -real drink… A—It’s a… You know what I mean.” He scurries off, and for the nth time that night, she fights off a laugh.

It doesn’t take long, and he comes back with a brand new, golden drink, garnished with a fancy looking orange and cherry flag. With not as much flair as before, he places it on the spot in front of her. “Aaaaand here you go. Enjoy.”

“What’s this?” She asks, toying with the thin straw. 

His eyes look upward, as if they might find the answer on the ceiling. “Mango, peach, orange juice,” he counts on his fingers. “And… some sweet n’ sour.”

She gives a quiet nod, going in to take a slow sip. And it’s damn good. It’s hard not to show it on her face, too. 

A slow smile stretches across his face, reaching his eyes. 

“Don’t you have other customers?” MJ asks, eyeing him carefully. The question isn’t meant to be rude. 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m helping them.”

MJ fixes him with a deadpan stare. 

“Did you forget about Bride-To-Be and Miss Behavior already?”

“They don’t count.”

“Technically I helped them.”

“—Realize they couldn’t just get free shots,” she finishes for him. 

Peter looks down, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Seriously, it’s fine. As long as I make sure I’m helping out when I’m needed, I’m fine—and happy—to stay here talking to you.”

At that, it’s MJ’s turn to look away, her insides now seeming to fully turn to goo at this point. 

They spend what seems like mere seconds—but in reality is another hour-and-a-half—just talking; catching up on each other’s lives, how everything’s changed in the past three years. She asks about his Aunt, finding out that she’s happy again with some guy named, well, Happy. Peter asks about her life and her family, then asking how her art’s been coming along. 

In all honesty, she’s surprised he even mentions it, much less remembers that about her. 

They joke back and forth, just as they had in the beginnings of the night. She watches as he tends to a group of Boomers, trying to suppress her laughter as he just nods quietly to what they complain to him about. He looks over at her, grinning from ear to ear, unable to tear his eyes away as he pours a beer for one of the men. 

The beer slips out of his hand half-a-second later. 

Although the warm jitters have never left, Michelle can’t help but feel a sense of ease sitting here, talking with Peter. Listening to his stories about all the different customers he’s had to deal with; him listening to her ramble on and on about the latest true crime documentary she’s been watching. 

It’s shortly after the last call for alcohol that he steers the conversation in a new direction. 

“You wanna know something crazy?” He asks, voice a little softer as he leans forward on the bar. 

By now, the bar has slowly been emptying out, the volume of conversation dying with it. Now, she feels as though speaking at a normal volume might invite eavesdroppers.

“What?” MJ subconsciously leans in as well. 

Peter glances left and right before moving the tiniest bit closer. “I used to have the biggest crush on you in high school. I really liked you.”

MJ’s brain nearly short circuits at the new information, and it takes her a moment to catch up with what she thinks she just heard. 

_ What?? _

But, surprised as she is, she has enough of her bearings to come back with a way to mess with him, keeping her composure to some degree. “And that’s crazy? That you could like me?”

Peter’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping as he rushes to correct himself. “What? No! No, Michelle, that’s not what I meant at all—”

“—I’m messing with you, dude.” She decides to take pity on him, pressing her lips together into a thin, timid smile. “And call me MJ.”

He breathes out in relief, nodding with her. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

Before she can respond, or perhaps investigate his new confession further, she feels a wobbly, leather-jacket clad arm wrap around her shoulder. “MJ!!” Felicia croons into her friend’s ear, Cindy popping up from behind her, just as drunk. “We just paid our tabs, let’s gooooooooo.”

“Goooooooooo!” Cindy chimes in.

MJ throws Peter a blank, tired stare, though there’s a fondness behind it. She shrugs her drunk friend off. “Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Felicia pouts before glancing up, her face suddenly lighting up seeing Peter. “Oooooh you wanna talk to cute bartender some more. Okay. Okay. I see you.”

“I gotta pay my tab. God—shut up, Felicia!” MJ hastily spits out, face burning as she passes a side-eye glance to said cute bartender, who seems to be eating this up. 

“Nice, MJ,” Cindy not-so-subtly whispers in praise after giving Peter a glance. 

MJ wants to hide. “Guys—”

“—Come on, Cindy. Let’s leave these two alone,” Felicia snickers, dragging their friend to the door. 

“Fiiiiine.”

MJ slowly, ever so slowly, turns to Peter, not wanting to look him in the eye. She can feel his stupid grin on his stupid face without even seeing him as she pulls her wallet out. “Here, lemme just… pay my tab.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it.” Peter waves her off. 

Her gaze snaps up to his. It proves to still be a mistake, because that dumb, shit-eating grin is still there, but she holds her ground. “Uh, no, dude, I gotta pay.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” His smile softens as he waves a dismissive hand. “It’s kind of an unspoken rule that we don’t charge DDs for non-alcoholic drinks and what not. Especially if they’re DDs that are super cool. And funny. And interesting. And pretty.”

She fights away the eyeroll threatening to show, feeling the heat engulfing her entire body. “Well, I gotta pay for something. How about the olive?”

Peter stands there, staring at her, the corner of his lip pulling upward. “The olive?”

“The olive.” She stares back, challenging him. 

It’s a staring contest between the two of them, one that MJ is determined to win. She has a plan, and in order to execute that plan, she needs to pay for something. 

After another second of her unwavering stare, Peter relents. “Well… Okay. That’s... ten cents? I guess. But like… Just know that I’m overcharging you.”

MJ laughs, handing him her card. 

Peter shakes his head as he runs the numbers at the register. He comes back with a receipt in hand, dropping a pen on top of it with a sense of finality. “Alright, ma’am. That’ll be ten cents.”

She takes the paper from him, grabbing a nearby pen and scribbling something down before folding it up. When she hands it back to him, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a single dime and handing it to him. “A tip for you,” she jokes as she gets up from her stool and makes her way to the exit. “One-hundred percent. Pretty good, huh?” 

With another shake of his head, he looks down as he pockets the coin, laughing. “Yes. Amazing. Thank you.”

His smile never leaves as the door closes behind her. 

\--

“Well?” Felicia demands as they get back into the car. 

MJ stays quiet, pressing her lips together in an effort to hide the smirk starting to show. 

“Are you gonna tell us anything?” Cindy pleads as the engine starts. 

Without a word, Michelle pulls the car forward, finding herself slowly losing the neverending battle against that damn grin. She sighs, her hands relaxing at ten and two as she begins the drive home. 

“We’ll see,” is all she says. 

Her smile grows at the simultaneous, tired groan that comes from her friends. 

\--

Peter wipes down the bar counter, the folded receipt burning a hole in his pocket as he finishes cleaning up as  _ Closing Time _ blares around him. He quietly bops around to the music, glancing up every so often as the manager goes to lock the front door. 

He waits a moment, both of his hands hesitating mid-air before pulling the piece of paper out, unfolding it. 

His face warms, his heart thundering in his chest as he reads. 

A note.

On it, a phone number, and next to that, a neatly-written message that somehow makes his smile widen even more: 

_ I really like(d) you, too.  _

_ \- MJ _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> closiiiiing tiiiiiime
> 
> fun fact: that song is actually not about a bar, but the guy's son being born??


End file.
